Breakdown on the Line

Jackie was beginning to feel some misgivings about her impending rail journey. But since leaving hospital two weeks ago, she had thought of little other than her forthcoming convalescence with her sister's family in Orpington.

She had always enjoyed visiting her sister Jill and the children, and brother-in-law Bob. He would treat her like a little sister, laughing at her unsophisticated country ways; but there was always warmth and love in the laughter. The children will exhaust her of course, as they always did. She wondered if she would still be able to cope with repeating the same game twenty times.

Inevitable, she will be reminded of her own family, now tragically lost, and this thought caused her some anxiety. She tried to remember Jeff and the boys before the accident, but could only remember their awful stillness and silence immediately after the crash, when her shocked mind had resented being left alone. Although the thought lasted only seconds, the guilt would always haunt her. But a normal family environment had been prescribed by the doctor, and she intended to come to terms with her new life as soon as possible.

It was many years since she had travelled by train, and very rarely had she travelled alone. However, she told herself, you have been declared ready to face life again, so a rail journey should not be too daunting.

She soon settled comfortably, watching the fascinating slices of urban life coming into frame and then sliding away down the line back to anonymity. This new view of the world intrigued her. Beautiful rural scenes blended into soulless factory estates and row upon row of ugly house backs, their crude outside plumbing dominating the architectural mess. Hundreds of tiny back gardens had been lovingly created and cared for by their owners, apparently undaunted by the unpleasantness of their surroundings. Jackie thought this obsession with the garden must be the secret of remaining sane in a world of concrete and neon.

Now back among the parks and golf courses, the big country houses and the neat little semis, she drowsily enjoyed the effortless way the miles slipped by as they sped into open countryside. Detached from the world outside, Jackie found unexpected pleasure in the rows of beaming faces and waving arms at the occasional country crossing, where children waited for the sudden rush and noise of the express. It seemed to Jackie that no other passenger showed the slightest interest in the changing scenes flowing past the windows. They had seen it all before, and were lost in their daydreams and cross-words. Perhaps there is something to be said for "letting the train take the strain she thought as she relaxed deeper into her seat, watching the crawling procession of vehicles fighting their way through the congestion of a North London high street.

As the last few glimpses of greenery gave way to uninterrupted grey, the effortless speed had become a slow progression punctuated by squealing brakes and frequent stops as the train negotiated its way through the increasingly complex pattern of tracks on its approach to the capital. She frequently bent her neck to study the route map on the carriage wall, dozens of stops before she need have worried. Another look at the map ' three stops to go ' better liven up and sort out bag and baggage. She could feel a mild panic in her stomach, although her rational self knew she could cope well enough. Half a mile before the stop she was the first to the doors as they approached Liverpool Street, and she felt a childlike sense of achievement as she stood hesitantly on the platform, a thousand purposeful commuters streaming past her.

The crowds had melted away by the time she passed through the barrier on to the intimidating concourse of Liverpool Street station. She felt her small reserves of confidence ebbing as she started down the steps to the Underground. This should be easy, she thought, remembering the many times she had criss-crossed London on the Underground, following clear signs and helped by friendly staff at every platform. Or was this only a selective memory, recalling only the fun and none of the fear?

It seemed she had walked miles without any clear idea of whether she was going in the right direction. The reassuring middle-class faces on the mainline journey had given way to a melting pot of City faces, down-and-outs, immaculate model faces, buskers and sad products of "care in the community. All seemed sure of their place and their purpose. All except Jackie it seemed, whose earlier apprehension had become a breath-halting, stomach-tightening panic. No helpful faces of Underground staff punctuated the shiny white labyrinth of tunnels in which she seemed trapped, until she came upon three uniforms huddled in a recess, as though fortifying each other against the awful public. She quickened her pace with relief as she approached them, and ignoring their stony stares asked for directions to the Sevenoaks line. "you'll 'ave ter go back to the kiosk, love, and ask 'im volunteered the first uniform, "unless you can 'elp 'er, Bert? she added as an afterthought. Bert took Jackie by the elbow as he patiently explained what he took to be perfectly obvious, while the third uniform stood gazing sullenly into space.

By the time she reached the platform she was feeling tired and dishevelled, and angry. How could an intelligent adult experience such difficulty with a system she had once used so often? She eventually boarded the carriage, pushed and jostled into a precarious one square foot of floor space, her arm threaded through swaying bodies to a tenuous grip on a hand rail. The pressure of unstable bodies against hers ' an experience to which regular travellers were hardened ' was anathema to her and she began to see the journey as an interminable nightmare. A nightmare which threatened to snap the fragile sanity to which she had so recently returned.

"You look distraught said a friendly voice beside her. She lifted her gaze from the floor to see the kindly face of a well-dressed middle-aged man, bespectacled and slightly balding, with a small, neat moustache, "where are you making for? he enquired. Jackie was utterly relieved to learn that he also needed the Sevenoaks line, and would be happy to see her through the change at Cannon Street. She was beginning to feel more relaxed and confident as they chatted on their way to the change. "They'll need to see your ticket at Cannon Street advised her new companion. She mentally reassured herself that her ticket was safely tucked away in her purse, and a quick glance into her handbag reassured her that her purse was in its place.

As the torrent of passengers swept past her on alighting at Cannon Street, she clasped her purse in readiness for the barrier. Her companion took a firm grip on the purse, and melted into the crowds. Jackie stood stunned with disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. She now felt more alone and helpless than ever, the pleasure of the mainline journey now a long-forgotten dream. She approached the barrier with apprehension, waiting until the main rush had passed. "Ticket please came the Dalek-like monotone from the collector, whose day was about to be enlivened by the call of duty. "I've had my purse stolen Jackie sobbed, not for one moment expecting to be doubted. "Yes, dear, we all know about stolen purses, so don't try that one on me responded the Dalek, his voice now animated and his eyes brightened by the flow of adrenalin. Leaving the kiosk, and apparently abandoning his quest for tickets, he led Jackie by the arm to the inspector's office at the far side of the station. An inspector stood drinking coffee and sharing a joke with a police officer as she was thrust before them by the self-appointed guardian of the law. Two more faces brightened visibly at the prospect of stemming the local crime wave. Jackie by now was so lonely and wretched that she was barely coherent as she tried to explain the theft of her purse. She sounded unconvincing even to herself. Ironic laughter from the three men triggered a sudden change in Jackie's demeanour. "You stupid, ignorant bastards! she heard herself shout. She could not remember using such an expression before, and it amazed her as much as it must have pleased her tormentors. "That sounds like using abusive language to an officer of the law suggested the inspector gleefully, "I think we should make an example of this one.

Sensing her imminent relapse, Jackie fell silent. Subsiding into the comforting depths of unreality, she could hear her other self laughing and crying uncontrollably as the voices of authority droned unintelligibly in the distance. She was unaware that their attention had shifted to a new excitement: a smartly dressed, middle-aged gentleman had been apprehended leaving the station with a brief-case full of purses.

* * *

"Old Jackie as she is known to station staff, is tolerated at London Bridge until her ranting becomes too embarrassing for the passengers. She appears at the barrier once or twice a week, muttering and grumbling, well-dressed but dishevelled, her dull expressionless face hinting at earlier good looks.

Passengers are at pains to avoid eye contact for fear of becoming the recipients of her verbal onslaughts. Very few pause to wonder what personal tragedies could have reduced her to such a state.

When staff patience runs thin, they telephone her sister to arrange for her to be removed to her home in Orpington, where she has been cared for by her sister's family since her unhappy journey ended in breakdown many years ago.